Malfoy's Heir
by AstridD
Summary: Harry Potter is made the heir to the Malfoy fortune, but finds himself unable to adapt to his new life well enough to please his new patron, Lucius.
1. Chapter 1

Harry woke at the sound of shouts coming from the street. The beginnings of a wine-induced headache pounded in front of his eyes, and the dry feeling at the back of his throat reminded him of the compelling need to find water. Reluctant to move from the warmth of the sofa...? bed...? floor...? where he lay, Harry pulled a pillow down over his face in the hopes of blocking out the noise. His movement drew a quiet moan of protest from the warm body lying next to him. Harry froze, finally recalled to consciousness. The warm body of who, exactly? One eye slowly cracked open, stealing a glance at the sleeping figure of a young man next to him on the bed. Memories of the previous night came back to Harry, reminding him of the pretty boy who had begged Harry to play his violin for him – the same boy who now lay curled at his side.

Harry remembered being only too happy to oblige the young man, and drunk though he was, he had still been a damned sight better than the other musicians plying their trade in the filthy public houses by the river. He had gathered quite a crowd, and winced as he remembered them throwing coins on his table to stand him a few drinks. He had not earned as much as he'd lost to the thieves on the wharf, but he had obviously had his share of drinks, and paid the rent for the cheap room he now found himself in. The boy at his side stirred as the noise outside grew louder. And with a sudden note of panic, Harry remembered that he had paid the rent of the sleeping figure as well. With that thought prominent in his mind, Harry frantically looked back on the previous night for any incriminating memory. With some relief, he remembered pulling the youth into the room with him, kissing him sloppily, and falling into the bed. The removal of his boots, which he was doubly relieved to see resting with his violin case on a rough wooden table, suggested that it was the boy who had removed them. Harry found it oddly touching that he had placed them carefully on the table with the violin – to the boy, the expensive leather boots were clearly of equal value to the instrument; Harry was once again grateful that his attackers had been similarly blind to the worth of the violin. So he had passed out, fully-clothed, and the boy had opted to steal a few hours sleep rather than rob what was left of Harry's money, and clothing, and abandon him. Sheer dumb luck had once more protected Harry from a worse fate – he must have chosen one of the few honest whores in the city as his partner in this particular escapade.

The shouts from the street appeared to have moved inside the building, and Harry groaned in pain as the noise pulsated through his throbbing head. The young man next to him pulled closer to him, and Harry felt the return of his interest stirring faintly below. Harry was torn between claiming what had already been paid for, and the need to escape the seedy, dank interior of the inn. The sound of several booted feet climbing the stairs in the hall had almost made his decision for him – he needed to find somewhere quieter to sleep off the worst of his hang-over – when the door was forcefully kicked open. Harry sat up in alarm, wincing at the pain the sudden movement caused, and resisted the urge to vomit. In the doorway stood the principle cause of the noise and agitation he had heard outside. The uniformed figures of two of the Duke's men stepped into the dimply lit room, followed by the Duke himself. Lucius's handsome face darkened as he took in the sight of Harry and the boy in the bed. Harry felt the first flush of shame overtaking his confusion, and struggled to find something suitable to say. The Duke looked about the room, his eyes dwelling on the naked figure of the young man. His lips curled into a sneer that made Harry's stomach turn in fear and shame, as he drew a sizable quantity of money from inside his coat, and threw it contemptuously onto the table. The boy next to Harry sprang to his feet, took the money, and fled the room in terror, pulling his clothes on as he went. The combination of the shame of being found out, and horror at the contempt in which Lucius clearly held him was too much for Harry, who leaned over the side of the bed retching.

"Get dressed. We're leaving the city within the hour." The Duke turned on his heels and left the room, not sparing Harry another glance.

XXXXXX

The journey from the city was among the more excruciating experiences of Harry's life. Harry cursed the current restrictions placed on Apparition due to the plague. Sweating profusely in his heavy clothing, he was painfully aware of the stench of stale alcohol seeping from his body, and prayed only that the Duke was less conscious of it. The jolting motion of the carriage as it passed over the rough country lanes outside of the city sickened him once more, and it was all he could do to prevent another vomiting incident. Keeping his eyes closed in concentration, Harry could still feel Lucius's eyes boring into him. The Duke's foul mood had not improved as they traveled away from the city, and to Harry, his anger was palpable. Stealing a surreptitious glance at him, Harry could see his fists clenching and unclenching as he attempted to contain his displeasure.

"So you are awake, then? If you are...unwell, you will order the carriage to stop." The distaste in Lucius's voice caused Harry to bristle slightly. He knew he had embarrassed himself with the tawdry incident at the inn, but given what little he knew of the Duke himself, he felt that the judgement was harsh. Regulus, and others among the staff, had more than once given hints of the state of drunkenness the Duke had favoured before Harry had met him. Harry had not expected sympathy, or understanding for his current condition, but the disgust on Lucius's handsome face was unnecessarily unforgiving. The look on the Duke's face echoed the expression on Harry's father's face as he banished Harry from his house, and Harry was unhappily reminded of the much deeper wound that had caused. Still, even if Lucius's abhorrence could not match the pain caused by his father's rejection of him, it cut him deeply enough. With a pang of serious regret, Harry considered the several reasons that the Duke might have for developing this new aversion to him. Counting in his head the long list of faults he had perpetrated the previous night, he realised that if nothing else, Lucius was still treating him better than his father had done. He might have abandoned him at the inn, and left him to fend for himself, but he had not. At the very least, Lucius appeared not to have given up entirely on their arrangement.

"I will be fine, thank you." Harry replied curtly, not inviting any conversation. Lucius's lips curled into a sneer, as he finally spoke the words that had been weighing on his mind.

"If there are rumours – if your...liaison...with the whore are discovered, I'm not sure that I will be able to help you." Harry finally met his eyes, wondering. Could not help him, or would not help him? The close relationship of the Duke to the king could surely be exploited to protect him, if it came to that. Harry decided that Lucius would chose not to help him. The degree to which that realisation hurt him was absurd, as he had already known how little he ranked in the man's estimation. There had been a few moments, in the previous weeks, where Harry had almost felt that Lucius was pleased with him, but now he saw that he had damaged their relationship irreparably. Despite how little he claimed to care for Lucius's good opinion, it stung him to think that he would now never have it. He had been careless – Lucius's good relationship with Rodolphus had lulled him into thinking that his own deviance would be ignored. But perhaps the deviance of a relative, and a pureblood, was a different matter – the sexual perversions of an untitled, penniless ward were clearly unacceptable and contemptible. And really, he thought bitterly to himself, if catching him kissing another boy had turned his father against him, finding him in bed with a Muggle rent-boy was sure to have thoroughly sickened Lucius. Harry cursed inwardly, regretting now that he hadn't had sex with the boy while he had the chance; if he was to hang for the intention, he wished he had actually committed the crime.

"There was no liaison. I was unconscious well before it got to that stage." Harry said carelessly, pretending he did not notice Lucius's disgust.

"I'm sure the details don't concern me." Lucius barked back at him, as both men fell silent, awkwardly remaining so for the duration of the journey.

XXXXX

Lucius strode through his house, barely taking in the concerned faces of those around him. With a careless gesture in Harry's direction, he called out for a nearby footman to escort the young man to his rooms. Regulus appeared at the top of the broad sweeping staircase in the main hall, drawn by the sudden commotion downstairs. A look of surprise, and then dread passed over him as he saw the dark expression on Lucius's face, and the sickly, lost look on Harry's face.

"Your Grace! We did not expect you until the end of the week." Regulus looked to the Duke in askance. Lucius did not deign to answer him, but pulled him after him toward his own rooms, not sparing Harry another glance. Slamming the heavy door closed after them, Lucius throw himself into a chair, a grimace of pain passing over his fine features, causing him to gingerly massage his injured leg. With no one to see the pain but Regulus, Lucius was much freer to admit to the ache that never left his wound – a wound that was aggravated by the energetic expressions of temper he was prone to. The thunderous display of temper downstairs, and the rush to his rooms had no doubt magnified the dull pain that lingered in the wound, even years later. Regulus looked at him in exasperation, waiting for his cousin to speak. He felt a moment's guilt at having abandoned a shaken looking Harry without a word, but the Duke as ever had claimed his full attention.

"You said he would behave with some decency – you said I wouldn't be ashamed to make him my heir." Lucius looked at Regulus accusingly, his eyes promising punishment if he was crossed. Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly too dry. He unconsciously took a step back from his cousin. He did not fear the man, as such, but he knew better than to provoke him. Lucius was not above punishing even his cousin, if given reason enough. He waited for Lucius to explain himself, unsure of how to answer his accusation. He searched his brain for some clue as to how Harry might have disappointed Lucius to such a degree.

Seeing he would get no response from Regulus, Lucius elaborated.

"He has humiliated me. He was drunk and playing his violin for pennies in a Muggle inn." Regulus looked surprised, but waited. Such things were completely inappropriate for the heir of a duke, but certainly fell into the realm of eccentric, rather than unforgivable. He felt sorry for the young man, and regretted now his decision to leave him unattended in the capital. He had seen the growing need for freedom, and fun even, in the boy's face before he had left, and had simply promised himself to attend to the boy's needs when the season had come to an end. He had not anticipated Harry's rebellious streak, and blamed himself somewhat for Lucius's anger. Still, he thought, there had to have been more to have upset him so much...

"We found him in bed with a whore. The man who is one day to own my home, and wear my title, in bed with some_ boy_ he picked up in the streets." Lucius spat the last, disgust clear in his voice. Alarm bells rang out loudly in Regulus's head, as he saw the pain that was masked by the fury in Lucius's eyes. He nervously licked his lips, unsure whether to defend Harry or not.

"I was close to accepting your estimation of him – I was so sure that you were right about him. But to find him debasing himself in such a way! No amount of training or education can make up for his blood – you can't make a noble out of a half-blood after all." Regulus winced, trying not to react to the insult. In a calmer state of mind, Lucius would have chosen his words better, to avoid the slight on his cousin's lineage. As it was, Regulus chose not to react to his own hurt pride, and instead attempted to reason with the Duke.

"He is young. He was bound to make some mistake – he has only been under our influence for a few short months! He has conducted himself so well in public – you cannot consider disowning him over one offence..." Regulus spoke in measured tones, pleading with his eyes rather than his voice. He knew from experience that the Duke was not susceptible to wheedling. He resisted the urge to remind Lucius of some of his own indiscretions, in the days before his marriage to the Duchess, deciding that Lucius would no doubt consider any reminder impertinent.

"Young or not, I will not have my heir cavorting with men, in full view of anyone who cares to see. Not even the slums are shielded from the eyes of the king." Lucius's voice had levelled out, and Regulus could no longer detect any real emotion under the icy tones.

"You will discipline him. However you see fit. And you will ensure that it never happens again. You may both pray that the king has not received any word of this, for I will not help him if rumours begin."

Regulus sighed inwardly at the coldness of the Duke's voice. He was disappointed, although not surprised, at how completely Lucius appeared to have quelled any liking he had shown for the boy to date. He was only glad that the Duke still referred to Harry as his heir – it would be more trouble than Regulus could bear to find a replacement for the boy, not to mention his own desire to protect Harry from the uncertain situation he had found him in months before. Without the patronage of the Duke, Harry would once more find himself penniless, orphaned and homeless, and Regulus was unsure of his own ability to care for him adequately without any aid from his lord. Seeing Lucius pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a headache, Regulus decided not to discuss the situation any further. He remembered the pain he had seen in his cousin's eyes as he recounted the scene at the inn, and decided to approach him about it at some other point. In his present condition, Lucius was in no fit state to hold a conversation, and Regulus doubted he would achieve anything except angering him further.

Excusing himself softly, he instead turned to the other immediate problem – that of speaking with Harry. Bracing himself for what would no doubt be an unpleasant, and uncomfortable conversation, he retreated from the Duke's apartments and made his way toward those appointed to the heir. Knocking sharply on the door, he steeled himself before entering, determined not to show any compassion for Harry's misery. For once, he decided, the boy would have to face the consequences of his actions.


	2. Chapter 2

The atmosphere in the residence of the Duke was deeply oppressive in the days that followed his sudden flight from the city. The stone walls seemed imbued with the dark mood of their master, and no one within the household could bring themselves to speak above a whisper if they thought they were within hearing range of the Duke. Not since the period of his depression following the death of his adopted son had Lucius been so quick to find fault with his servants, and to rage at the slightest infraction. His staff, even Regulus, felt anxious and on edge for the duration of the week, with few willing to perform even the most straightforward tasks, if they brought them within sight of the master of the house.

Lucius found himself once more brooding in a quiet, dark house, with very little company or distraction. He considered sending for Regulus, to question him as to the punishment he had inflicted on Harry, but knew that regardless of the severity of the punishment, he would feel compelled to criticise Regulus's leniency. Despite his harsh words to his cousin on the night of the return from the city, Lucius nonetheless recognised the effort his cousin had made to locate a suitable heir for his estate. Regulus had had little reason to suspect that the boy would act in such an indecent way, and did not deserve Lucius's overly hard criticism. Although Harry had claimed innocence in the matter, and had maintained that nothing sexually untoward had occurred between himself and the prostitute, Lucius remained unconvinced.

He winced at the memory of the room he had found them in, and the feeling of betrayal that he had felt at seeing Harry in such a state. He remembered the pang of hurt he had felt at the disloyalty to himself – an heir who was worthy of the position of Duke would never tarnish his reputation with such indiscrete behaviour. Lucius could not decide which was worse – playing for small change in an inn like a common travelling musician, or paying a filthy Muggle whore for sex – both for the entire world to see.

Lucius himself was no stranger to prostitutes – the strained situation with his wife was such that there was limited opportunity for legitimate intercourse – but Lucius nonetheless felt he had maintained much more dignity and discretion in his encounters. There were several establishments, in the city and nearby, that were more suited to catering to the sexual needs of pureblood wizards than a street prostitute. The idea of a streetwalker disgusted the Duke, particularly given the recent outbreak of plague within the city – there was no way to tell who the boy had spread his legs for, or what state of health they had been in. Harry would be lucky not to have contracted syphilis from his liaison with him. Lucius miserably wondered whether he should have the boy checked by a physician, but could not bring himself to imagine calling upon the elderly estate doctor to check his heir for a sexual disease. He would simply have to trust to Regulus to see to such things if the need arose.

Lucius found he was unable to distract himself from playing the scene at the inn over and over in his mind. He groaned in frustration as he realised that sleep was beyond him in his current state of agitation. If he were entirely honest with himself, he would have allowed that his anger at Harry's classless behaviour, and his fear of the possibility of the boy introducing sickness into his home, was entirely overshadowed by the twisting he felt in his gut when he thought of Harry giving himself so carelessly to someone so unworthy. Over the weeks he had spent in close proximity to the boy in the city, he had become aware of his attraction to him – Harry was certainly handsome, with his clear, pale skin, golden-brown hair, and intelligent green eyes – and Lucius was not adverse to the idea of taking another man into his bed.

Unbeknownst to Regulus, Lucius had indeed enjoyed more than one night with another man before he was married. He recognised the need for discretion; the death penalty for sodomy was no idle threat, particularly given the King's intense disgust for homosexuals, and finding equal joy in sex with women, Lucius was unwilling to risk his reputation and life for a few moments pleasure. The presence of Harry in his life, however, and the timely absence of his wife, had made him reconsider some of his ideas.

The memory of Harry splayed across the unmade bed in the inn, his face rosy and eyes half-lidded played over in his mind for days, causing him some discomfort. However uncomfortable the realisation made him, he could no longer ignore that he was particularly angry with Harry because of the feelings of arousal he had caused that could not be satisfied. If he had felt no attraction to the man, he would have forgiven him his misadventure much sooner - revolting, dishonourable and dangerous though the particular circumstances were. Lucius gritted his teeth in frustration, and finally gave up. On the third night following his return to the country, he ordered his carriage to prepare for a short trip to the nearby town.

XXXXXX

Lucius sat back into the soft cushioned chair, and swirled the glass of firewhiskey he held in his hands. The soft lighting of the room soothed away something of his anger, and he began again to feel some excitement about his impending encounter. The mistress of the house, who was made aware of Lucius's proclivities, had called for several of the prostitutes to present themselves for his inspection in the parlour. Lucius could hear the muted sounds of laughter emanating from inside the house somewhere, where no doubt another client was being entertained. The soft, feminine laugh that he could hear through the walls was appealing, and he wondered briefly whether he should change his specifications for his partner, but a quick flash of the memory of Harry sprawled across the bed in his sordid room at the inn assured him that he should not seek the comfort of the no doubt beautiful lady in the next room.

The door opposite Lucius opened suddenly, and three young men stepped into the room. One, while very pretty, he dismissed immediately as being too reminiscent of his cousin Rodolphus. The second boy in the line-up was a stunning red-haired boy, who piqued his interest, until his eyes passed over to the third boy. While definitely less striking than the redhead, this boy was handsome, with brown hair, and fine features offset by his pale skin. The Duke felt the beginnings of arousal as he dragged his gaze over the body of the young man, who met his eyes with a sultry smirk. Lucius quickly indicated his choice with a nod in the direction of the brunette, and the madam assented. Taking the proffered hand of the boy, Lucius was led through the door, and down a darkened corridor. The laughter and faint sounds of pleasured sighs he could hear behind the doors along the corridor stirred his interest still more, and by the time he had followed the boy into his room, Lucius's trousers were uncomfortably tight.

The boy began to remove his clothing, and by the time he was naked, all thoughts of inheritance, honour and execution were pushed to the back of Lucius' mind. As he bent the boy over the side of the bed, even thoughts of Harry were chased away, replaced by the reality of the pliant, soft body underneath him.

XXXXX

Lucius slept peacefully for the first time since his departure from the capital. The boy next to him tried unsuccessfully to wake him at first light, before giving up and rolling from the bed. Lucius reached out to pull him back toward him, but the boy had already left. Groaning quietly as he became aware of the light shining on him through the delicate curtains, Lucius decided against sleep, and dragged himself out of bed. He summoned a glass of water from a decanter on the table, and tried to ignore the pounding in his head as he pulled his clothes back on. Images of the previous night flitted through his brain, and he found himself half-hard in spite of his hangover. Searching through his dress coat pockets, he found several notes, which he left on the table for the boy, who had pleased him greatly. Walking through the house, he was careful not to make eye contact with anyone – while a certain degree of anonymity was carefully conserved among the clientele of the brothel, Lucius himself was of too high a rank not to be recognised and remembered by other clients who saw him.

With a discrete nod to the madam, who curtsied to him as she opened the door for him, the Duke stepped out into the early morning sunshine. The coachman shook himself awake fully as he saw his master leave the building, and helped him into the carriage. Lucius settled into the back of the coach, shielding his eyes with his arm, and tried to forget the painful throbbing in his skull. He wondered how much he had drunk – he remembered ordering a bottle of brandy to the room after satiating himself with the boy, and cajoling him into finishing the bottle with him. He smiled softly to himself at the memory – he rarely indulged in such perversions, but he felt that it had greatly eased his mind to explore some of the fantasies he had lately been consumed by, even if he could not indulge them with the object of those fantasies. He was also sure that the vivid memories of the young man bent over the bed, legs spread, would satisfy his desire for men for some time, even in the presence of Harry himself.

As the carriage pulled into his own courtyard, Lucius felt greatly recovered, and in a better temper than he had been for several weeks. On opening the door to him, he bid his footman fetch breakfast to his rooms. Lucius was unwilling to face Harry in such a dishevelled state, given the animosity that existed between the pair since he had found Harry in the cheap whorehouse by the docks. He was sure the boy would not understand the difference between Lucius's excursion to the exclusive brothel he had visited, and the incident with the sordid, filthy prostitute Harry had contracted. As he sat down to enjoy his breakfast, he was thankful not to have the company of the young man to distract or annoy him.

Having poured himself a cup of strong tea, the Duke began opening his carefully arranged correspondence with a silver letter-opener. Among the usual obligatory invitations and greetings from those who had heard of his return to the country, was one pristine white envelope of the highest quality. Putting it aside for last, Lucius flicked through each of the unexciting messages from local dignitaries. Leaving these mundane matters aside for Regulus's attention, he finally turned to the white envelope, examining the unfamiliar seal placed on its cover. Slicing through the edge of the envelope, he unfolded the letter, and read the sparse few lines contained within.

_My Lord, I implore you to visit the Duchess, your wife, to convey to her the congratulations of her peers in this happy time. Alas, her confinement prevents any well wishers from relaying their messages in person – a well-meaning friend._

Lucius dropped the letter to the table, stunned at what he had read. His mind raced back to his last memory of his wife, the previous spring, when she had briefly met him in his own house. Since then, he had spent little time in the capital, and she had denied him any visits, under various pretexts. While Lucius had long accustomed himself to the coldness and distance within his marriage, he had to admit now that their relationship had deteriorated significantly in the past year. But the very idea of his wife being pregnant was preposterous. That, if anything, had been the main source of contention between them in the early years of their relationship – the desire and pressure to produce an heir had been a constant burden on them both, ever more as it became apparent that an heir would not be conceived.

Lucius grabbed the letter in his hands, turning it around, searching for some identifying marks, but found nothing. The sender, despite sending an insultingly transparent message, had been more subtle in hiding their own identity. Lucius folded the letter into his pocket, and attempted to still his rising temper. The pain in his head, which had receded somewhat after his breakfast, was again bothering him. The anonymity of the letter angered the Duke. While he was reluctant to credit the information in the letter without any further proof, he felt himself grow hot with rage at the idea of another person laughing at him while penning the sarcastic letter. Getting out of his chair with little regard for his injury, the Duke called out for his cousin. Storming from his room, he bellowed for Regulus to attend him instantly, all the while wondering at the identity of the author of the letter. As his men scrambled to find the Duke's cousin, and to avoid drawing his attention to themselves, the Duke mentally began considering the various things he needed to attend to before returning to the capital, and demanding an audience with his wife.


End file.
